


A Wing and a Prayer

by titC



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, I didn’t kill anyone I’m so proud, I love modal verbs, Lucifer can’t catch a break, also there are commas, and modal verbs, and semi-colons, but it was hard, but mostly adjectives, in fact it’s all sort of fluffy, isn’t the English language wonderful, maybe I should keep that title for a better fic, no biblical shenanigans this time, or adverbs, or foamy maybe, significant shower gel, there can never be too many adjectives, wing scars insta-feelz just add water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:11:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe's timing is maybe not the best.<br/>There's a peeping tom bird, and some tropes.<br/>Let's face the truth here: I'll never manage to write an engaging summary that would make people want to read my fic...<br/>Okay, let me try again: a bird spies on Chlucifer sexing it up on the balcony. Angst happens. A key moment in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wing and a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write pr0n, and of course me being me in turned into a lot of talking, angst, and so-washed-out-it's-almost-pink purple prose; but, although a happy ending tried to evade me, I managed to snatch it from the jaws of realism (aka some characters' deaths). If we can talk about realism here.  
> Hum.  
> It felt sort of crack-y as I was writing it. It was written _on a lark_ if I may say so. THE PUN I AM SO PROUD.

The wind was rustling its feathers, and it hopped and flittered about to find a more sheltered vantage point. The tall, strangely wingless archangel was sprawled on a couch, barefoot and sleeves rolled up, drinking something golden-colored from a tumbler and staring up into the night. He turned around to look inside at the sound of footsteps, flinging an arm over the back of the couch.

“Hi, Lucifer.”

“Detective.”

“Why are you sulking up here and not downstairs?”

“My set’s over. And I’m not sulking, my dear, I’m enjoying a fine drink and an even finer view of the city of angels.” He waved at the neon-lit night, and almost as an afterthought winked at her.

“Uh huh. And you came back up here to enjoy all of this alone?”

“Why, yes. Shouldn’t I?”

The bird caught a little insect crawling at its feet and swallowed it.

“It’s… unusual, I guess.”

“Think so? You haven’t known me for that long.”

“Long enough, though. Even Maze looked troubled when she sent me up here. What’s wrong?”

The angel thumped his glass down on the low table in front of him. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” The woman sat down next to him, her long skirt fanning around her on the cushion a bit like a peacock’s feathers. “You’ve been all out of sorts for the last few days. Even your bartender looks at you like you’re a condemned man, and seriously that’s disturbing.”

He leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes. “Why are you here, Detective?”

“Because I’m _worried_.”

“Worried?” The eyes opened.

“We’re friends, Lucifer. Don’t pretend you don’t know what that means. You wouldn’t have followed me to the airport warehouse otherwise. You wouldn’t have got Trixie a birthday present. You wouldn’t…”

He shrugged. “I don’t want to always be the bad guy.”

“You’re not. Why do you think you are?”

“Haven’t I said it enough? You don’t believe me anyway.”

“Whatever. I know you’re not evil. You _are_ annoying, though.” She bumped his shoulder and smiled, but his expression didn’t change.

“Hm. Would you like a drink?” He made a gesture in the general direction of the floor to ceiling windows.

“I’m fine, thank you. Look, I…” A sigh. “Dan and I are divorced.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Good for you.”

“I’m… free. Freer. I _feel_ freer, at least.”

“Ready at last to get back on the dating scene? Or even the meaningless, pleasurable sex-for-its-own-sake scene?”

The bird pecked at a few feathers to rearrange them. “Not exactly. I’m not 20 any more, I have a daughter, I have a job…”

“I haven’t been 20 in much, much longer than you, Detective. And I do have a job, even if you don’t think it’s a real one.”

“You’re not that much older, unless you have a secret you could sell for billions to cosmetic labs.”

“I’m rich enough as it is.” He smiled a little smug smile.

“Yes. But. Not the point.” She shook her head and his eyes followed the few locks that had escaped her ponytail. “If I go that way again, I need someone I can rely on to be here for my baby girl when it matters, someone she likes too.”

“You’re looking for a baby-sitter?”

“No! Don’t be dense. Just… someone who has my back.”

“Not someone you’re attracted to? Someone who tells you they’re attracted to you?”

“Well, yes, of course. But… I mean. Not just that. I need more. Someone I can trust, someone who can trust me too. Dan… didn't, when it counted.”

“So why are you here and not out there, looking for that gem? Or have you found them and want my advice? Or maybe for Maze to put the fear of the devil in them?”

She laughed, that strange thing humans and angels and demons did. “Not exactly. But that’s the kind of answer I like.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Detective.” He started to stand up but she caught his wrist, naked and hairless and featherless and strange.

“Sit. Please. I meant – that you’ve been after me for so long yet when you think I want someone else, you’d offer advice and your bodyguard.”

“I’m not particularly happy about it.”

“I know.” And she leaned forward and she put her soft mouth on his, delicate and slow.

He made a surprised noise and his long fingers curled around her shoulders, from where no wing had ever grown. “Detective?”

“You can be dense sometimes.” She went back to his lips, and his hands went up into her hair, untying it and running through it. The bird hopped onto the railing and wished its job could end now. “Lucifer, a bird is watching us.”

“Is a _bird_ making you uncomfortable? Exhibitionism not doing it for you?”

“Let’s just go inside, I’m about to fall off your couch.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“Hmm.” She stood up and tugged him and he followed, his eyes always on her. He was much taller than she was, and had to bend to kiss her. After a few minutes of shuffling awkwardly, he finally snapped and grabbed her hips and leaned her back against the outside wall, and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a satisfied little noise.

A little golden seed bounced on the bird’s head before falling at its feet, and it chirped softly. Mission not over – an unnecessary reminder in its opinion. When it looked back at the pair, they’d wriggled enough to open his trousers and move her skirt aside. Humans. They had no mating seasons, and even mated for the simple pleasure of it. And angels… shouldn’t, really. They were not really supposed to, but what was a bird to do about it?

The woman was squirming against him, urgent and demanding, hands clutching his neck; and he was driven, his head buried in her shoulder and fingers spasming on her thighs. One of her shoe fell down with a clatter as a strong shudder shook her body, and he moaned long and low. They slid down the wall, still entwined; and it had a hard time distinguishing which bit was whose. They were back to those little pecking movements all over each other’s face, whispering things it couldn't make out. The bird hopped a bit closer, hidden behind a large pot.

“This is… unexpected. Not that I’m complaining, you understand.”

A giggle. “I do.” He hissed as she wiggled a bit on his lap. “You’re still hard.”

“Of course. This was just… an appetizer.”

“Mmm. Consider my appetite duly whetted.”

“Good.” He settled back and rearranged her legs around him.

She started to work on his shirt, undoing a button, another; and he let her. His palms were cupping her jaw, his fingers buried in her long hair; and his mouth never left her face – cheeks and lips and nose and lids and brow, gentle and careful. His hands left her when she pushed his shirt down his arms, and he finished taking it off and threw it behind him, thankfully missing the bird by inches. Being stuck under folds of fabric would have been a pain.

Her small hands did not look very soft; there was a slight rasping sound when rougher skin glided up over his collarbone. She used weapons, it recalled. She was a fighter.

“No,” he said. His fingers were splayed on the wall on each side of her head, and he shook his head slightly.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you think I’ll hurt you?” He didn’t answer. “Lucifer.”

The bird could empathize, even if the human woman couldn’t. Such scars… it couldn’t begin to fathom how it must have felt, how it must still feel. Losing your wings. Worse: asking someone to hack them off because even though you love them, even though they’re a vital part of your self – you're better off without. It was unfathomable, and yet he had done it. But he leaned deeper into the woman’s arms, and he exhaled, and let her tentatively stroke the whole of his back; shoulder-blades to hips, deep scars and smooth skin and a little sob when she kissed his temple and let her hands rest there, in the center of each wound.

They didn’t move for long minutes; and in the quiet of the night, over the faraway noise of the streets down below, his breathing sounded really rough. He leaned back a little and ran a thumb over her glistening cheeks. “Why…?”

“Because.”

He bunched her hair in his hands and went back to crowding her against the wall, raising himself on his knees a little; and she gripped him harder with her limbs when he started moving in earnest, their rhythm more regular and leisurely than the frantic rush of just before. Her hips were slightly moving too, a counterpoint to his slow grinding, and it looked like they were so close, closer, closer again that they’d just become one body. Even their slight panting had harmonized, like two mated birds singing to find each other in a dense forest. It went higher and higher, ending on an almost whine except it sounded like they didn’t have any air left in their lungs, collapsing against each other on the floor.

“Ow,” she said. She wriggled a hand under her back and threw a shoe away from them.

“I suppose we could find a more comfortable location,” he whispered.

“Can’t move yet.”

He smiled, big and proud and happy, and rolled to his feet, one hand buttoning his trousers and the other supporting her. “Aren’t you lucky I can, then.”

“Hmm. Very.”

They moved inside, and the bird unfolded its off-white wings for a short flight along the windows. It saw them stumbling into a bedroom, and settled on the window sill. She stretched her arms on the bed and beckoned to him with a hand, but he only bent down to kiss the back of her hand before disappearing for a minute. He came back with two glasses, one filled with what looked like water and the other with one of those golden liquids he preferred.

“Oh, thank you.” He crawled over her and crossed his long legs on the mattress, one hand playing with her hair and the tumbler in the other. “You know, you’re probably not doing yourself any favors drinking so much alcohol.”

“What else would you have me drink?”

“Something that will not destroy your liver before you’re 45, maybe. I’d like to keep you a little longer.”

He made a moue. “Oh, _I_ ’ll be around for much longer than that.” He set the tumbler on the bedside stable and turned to her, running a hand over her shirt. “Now, can we undress you a bit more?”

She tugged at his trousers in answer, and soon they were naked on the bed. Their skin was so vulnerable. Unprotected. It almost looked like they were wrestling, except they were also laughing and whispering softly in each other’s ears and dropping kisses everywhere. All of this energy spent, the bird pondered. A waste at first sight, but they looked so full of joy. Maybe it was worth it. He was heading down her body, doing something even more pointless and useless and wonderful, and when his head was level with her navel she grabbed his hair and pushed him flat on the sheets and knelt over his face, hovering a little and watching his reaction. “Lucifer likes,” he said with a grin, voice throaty and a glint in his eye.

“Good,” she answered.

He ran his hands over her thighs and hips, dipping a thumb just where his tongue was starting to touch her; and she started to grind. Her long fair hair hung behind her, her throat bared to the ceiling; and she never let go of his hair – not until she bit her lip and stopped breathing and froze for a long moment, muscles clenched as he caught her fingers in his.

She moved down his body a bit, looking down at his very wet face and his cat-got-the-canary smile – not a nice simile, the bird decided. He licked his lips, slowly and with relish.

“I think I really, really like your tongue,” she said, still panting a bit. He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, not just the tongue.” She squirmed a bit further down and bent to kiss him, her hair falling around them and hiding their faces. They probably had closed their eyes. They were probably smiling, too.

The bird fluffed its feathers a bit, the breeze coming through the window was cooler than before. They didn’t seem to notice.

She maneuvered a bit to let him slip back into her, and they both sighed, hidden behind a blond curtain. Her hands were still gripping his, their forearms touching, her skin rubbing against his; and a few mumbled words and sounds escaped their little bubble – “please” and “oh” and “more” and “yes” and “I’m sorry”. The bird cocked its head at that one.

But soon there were no more words, and his fingers clenched on hers and after a minute he whispered, “Chloe?”

“I’m here.”

“Stay?”

“Okay.” After a while she moved to get up. “Just have to send a text to my mother. She’s got Trixie.”

“Hmm.”

When she padded back into the bedroom he hadn’t moved, eyes on the doorway, waiting for her. She stretched out next to him and he moved to rest his head on her shoulder, fingers playing with her hair.

“You like my hair that much?” She gently scratched his scalp and he smiled.

“I don’t want to forget the color.”

“Why would you?”

He ran a hand through a few locks before letting his arm wrap around her waist. “And the texture.” He shifted a bit, threaded a leg between hers. Kissed her collarbone.

They settled for sleep, but the bird watched on. He didn’t react when her hand ended up on his back during the night. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured in the dark.

 

Dawn came quickly, and with it Lucifer opened his eyes. He watched a red-eyed bird hop towards him.

“Stop staring. I haven’t forgotten,” he told it. The sheets rustled behind him, but he didn’t want to turn around. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to honour his end of the deal if he did. Or maybe he’d scare her to death with his red, burning eyes.

“Where are you going?” she mumbled.

“I’m… I have to.”

From what he could hear, she must have sat up. She sounded much more awake suddenly. “Lucifer. Lucifer, look at me.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“What…?”

He walked away from the bed, from her and nodded to Amenadiel waiting for him just outside on the balcony. He knew when she’d get there they’d have already vanished.

 

The bastard. The absolute bastard, the _bloody_ asshole. Or arsehole, maybe. What was wrong with him? Was he that much of a selfish, commitment-phobic jerk? She’d been clear about what she wanted, right? And she’d thought he’d been on board. She’d thought they could give it a try. And now he’d vanished, and he didn’t even answer his phone, and – she heard a buzzing sound. His phone was vibrating on the low table outside. 3 missed calls, it said. 5 unread messages. She wasn’t the only one trying to get a hold of him, then. Where was he gone?

She walked around his penthouse, but there was so sign of him. Their clothes were still where they’d discarded them, a tumbler next to a very cold ashtray on the piano. He hadn’t showered either, and the kitchen was spotless. She found his wallet and his car keys in a jacket thrown over a bar stool. Should she be angry, or… her gut told her something was wrong; but it was Lucifer, after all. She could wait a day or two before being really worried, maybe; it wasn’t the first time he’d dropped out of sight without warning. Perhaps he’d just had cold feet. Perhaps he needed a little time to regroup.

Without his wallet and car keys and phone.

Damn it.

 

Chloe decided that a long hot shower was in order, before facing the rest of the day ahead – her mother and her daughter and her neighbors, and her coworkers if she went to file a missing person report. If Lucifer didn’t come to pester her at the precinct there would be questions too, but she wasn't sure she should wait for tomorrow. Wasn’t sure she should file one straight away either.

She looked at herself in the mirror – reddened skin on her thighs, a bruise where her shoulder must have knocked into the wall; she hadn’t even noticed yesterday. His nails had left scratches just under her kidneys. She looked at her hands, remembered the roughness of his scars, the softness of his skin around them.

She turned the water on and sighed as it sluiced down her body. She fiddled a bit and managed to get jets of warm water – trust him to have a luxurious shower spa. She tried not to wish he were here too. There would have been more than enough room for the both of them.

When she got out of the bathroom wrapped in a large soft towel, Mazikeen was waiting for her on the couch. She handed Chloe her bra. “You brought an overnight bag. Optimistic of you.”

“Where is he?” She snatched the bra.

“Not here. You can put it on, you know. I won’t mind.”

“I would. _Where is he?_ ”

“Back in hell.” Chloe glared. “Still don’t believe, huh. He made a deal with his father for you. So here you are, alive; and there he is, probably moping.” She rolled her eyes. Moping was not a Maze-approved activity then. It made Chloe feel perversely happy – thinking that he’d mope away from her. And really fucking angry at the away-from-her thing, too.

“Why are you not with him?”

“Unfinished business. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Listen, he is _back in hell_. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Sit down, Decker. I’m going to show you something. And then you’ll understand why he won’t come back, and why you should forget about him.” Chloe crossed her arms and leaned against an armchair. She would not sit. She wasn’t a child. “Fine, whatever. Don’t blame me if you keel over.”

Maze stood up and shook her hair back and then – then, half her face stayed the same. The other half… it looked like her head had been put in a fire and held there until all the skin and most of the muscles had burned and melted away. Chloe half sat, half fell in the armchair. “God…”

“Demon.”

“Uh?”

“I’m a demon. Hell burns everyone.” Her face went back to what Chloe was used to. “You never saw the devil’s face, did you?”

Chloe thought back to the day she had seen the reflection of a red red face. “I may have. I thought… I thought I’d imagined it.” Hadn’t she? Maybe Maze was just playing with her mind. Horrible burns were nothing supernatural.

“You’re still not sure you believe, right? I can see it on your face. Well. Too bad.” She shrugged and left the penthouse, grabbing the car keys on her way out and leaving Chloe even more confused and lost.

 

Days turned into weeks, and her mother had thankfully stopped pestering her about her rebound guy, as she’d taken to calling him. Trixie hadn’t, though; she kept asking about him and Maze. What could she say?

So life went on, her missing person report never led anywhere, and she tried to forget about the night they’d spent together. Tried, but didn’t really manage. She’d snagged one of his expensive-looking shower gels when she’d left his penthouse, because she would have felt too silly taking his shirt. When she really missed him she used it, the smell a bittersweet reminder of the man. She missed his grin, and his inappropriate remarks, and having someone infuriating tagging along and making her laugh and also want to strangle him. Life seemed boring and gray now, and wouldn’t she have been surprised if she had known how his absence would feel like?

So she went to work, and she helped Trixie with her homework, and she assured her mother she was fine; and sometimes, when the days were a bit too hard, when she needed something just for herself, when she felt lonely but no one made her want to try and go back to dating as Penelope urged her to – she locked herself in the bathroom with the smell of sandalwood and her memories.

 

The bird was often tasked to check on the human woman, but nothing much ever happened. Nothing new, at least. Most days were a variation on the ones before, and it wondered why she was of such interest still.

The sky was very clear today, with just enough wind to make a long flight really appealing; but there was a job to do. Enjoying the wind on its wings would have to wait. It flew through the upstairs window and dropped a little bundle on the pillow next to her, then went back to watch from the window railing. She woke up slowly, the light creeping up along her body as the sun rose higher and higher. She blinked her eyes open, and her arm bumped into the parcel as she stretched. Surprised, she sat up and looked around as she gingerly took it. The bird hopped into the shade, still keeping a red eye on the human. She upended the little bag, and out of it a signet ring and a plain, old-fashioned silver key fell into her palm.

“Oh,” she said. She must have recognized the ring. She slipped it on with a wet-sounding chuckle. It was too big for her finger and it kept sliding off and her face seemed not quite sure what expression to settle on.

She raised her eyes at a new sound outside, and the bird hopped down to a flowerpot. Those great wings of his could easily knock it down if it wasn’t careful.

“Hello, Detective.”

“You’re…” Her eyes went from his face to the very white feathers behind him. She stood and walked to him, slowly. His hip was leaning against the window sill, and the great wings caught the light of the sun. Such a show-off, the bird thought. Not that it was jealous, you understand.

He bent a bit towards her and gave her a surprised, happy smile. “You smell like me.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. “Not quite,” she finally settled on. She touched his shirt, his cheekbone. Looking into his eyes, she reached out behind him slowly, and he curved a wing forward, letting her touch and stroke and bury her fingers in feathers. “I think… I think I believe you now. That, or I’m insane.”

“You’re not insane.”

“I really, really hope so.” She stood on tiptoes and drew his face down to hers. “I don’t want you to disappear again.”

“I wish I could make that promise.”

“But you have a job?”

“But I have a job.”

She let their foreheads touch. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“So did I.”

“What happened?”

He looked up and pursed his lips. “As they say. My father can be merciful.”

“He forgave you?”

“We… may have agreed to try to pretend we could perhaps one day forgive each other.”

“Really?”

“…and I may have threatened to sabotage hell unless I got to see you one last time.”

She jerked backwards. “ _One_ last time?”

“Well, I – what is that?” He looked at the bed behind her.

“Oh. It came here with your ring.” She walked to the bed and he trailed behind her, loosely keeping her fingers in his. She picked the key up and held it to him.

His eyes went from her face to the ring to the key. Finally, he took it, and when he touched it the key turned into a long pendant on a silver chain. His hands shook too much, and so she took the necklace and looped it around his neck. “Your brother has one just like that, right?”

“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Lucifer?”

He sat down on the bed and looked up at her and smiled like a blind man seeing the sky again, the eyes tearing at its brilliance but unable to look away. “We have all the time in the world now, if we want it,” he said.

The bird trilled softly and flapped its wings before leaving them. His father surely didn’t need a report on what they would be doing, and the sky was calling.


End file.
